


Can't Help Falling in Love

by mielzy_scribbles



Series: coffee for all [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, all in one package!!!, and already my word vomit is making me feel all mushy inside, barista iwa-chan and smitten oikawa??, coffee shop au no one asked for, let's go let's go, this is my first attempt at fandom fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6368254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mielzy_scribbles/pseuds/mielzy_scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barista Iwaizumi and annoying-but-smitten-regular Oikawa. Need I say more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. just another knight

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to try my hand at fanfiction for the longest time but never got around to it 'til now, and hooooo boy. This will be a looonnnggg ride. 
> 
> Sorry if the development of everything is slow i just?? slow iwaoi feelings uurrgghhh i hope you enjoy dying with me
> 
> i was listening to Tyler Joseph's cover of Elvis' "Can't Help Falling in Love" and yes it is the perfect aesthetic
> 
> ok thanks for paying attention to my little rant! i really hope you enjoy this work!

It's been a long, long day for Iwaizumi - already he's had to calm two aunties intent on getting him fired because they couldn't cash in expired drink coupons - and he’s very ready to get off from work and hit the books. The coffee shop was nice and all, but the normally aromatic smells wafting from the machines weren't helping his pounding migraine. Iwaizumi starts dragging a rag across the counter as he prays that no other customers will show. It's a good thing Matsukawa and Hanamaki have already left, leaving him in blissful quiet, with just the chirping music of that blonde kid's video game and the hiss of the coffee machines boiling down. 

 

Iwaizumi is so lost in his thoughts that he jumps and swears when a hand waves in his face. The customer grins obnoxiously, and Iwaizumi scowls. He grumbles out a greeting and jabs the order into the register with deliberate concentration, ears flushed and eyebrows furrowed. When he looks up with a “is that all?” the customer smirks.

 

“How about your name and number?”

 

“No.” The customer’s smug grin slips, crestfallen at his lightning response. Iwaizumi moves to make his drink.

 

“Aw, come on, why not?” The customer whines across the counter.

 

Iwaizumi hands him his drink with a disgruntled glare. “I’m not going to give out my contact info to the asshole who ordered a… ‘vent iced black tea with soy instead of water, 2 pumps vanilla, 1 classic’ as I was just about to close up.”

 

The asshole pouts as Iwaizumi smirks and continues wiping down the counter. The blonde gamer had left a while ago, and it was just the two of them in _The Knight’s Corner_. The customer retreats to a corner, nursing his tea and his ego. _A bit of a shame_ , Iwaizumi mused, eyes drifting. He’s pretty, chocolate doe eyes and petulant mouth, brown hair sweeping over his forehead. His name was… Oikawa, if Iwaizumi remembers correctly. Oikawa finishes his tea and quickly plasters a smile back onto his face as he waves Iwaizumi goodbye and finally leaves. Iwaizumi closes shop with a sigh of relief.

 

_****_

 

Matsukawa pokes his head into the breakroom. “Iwaizumi? A customer is asking for you ~”

 

Rubbing his eyes, Iwaizumi groans and lumbers out to the counter as Hanamaki greets him with a shit-eating grin.

 

“Oh, not you again,” Iwaizumi mutters. “What can I get for you today?”

 

“Could I get a dirty chai, please?” Oikawa asks quietly, flashing a quick smile at the girls who’re staring at his lean figure.

 

“One dirty chai!” Iwaizumi yells to Hanamaki as he scribbles kanji onto a cup, who scurries off to make the order. He turns back to Oikawa. “300 yen.”

 

He’sgaping at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi’s pretty sure that eyes can only sparkle like that in _anime_.

 

“300 yen… please?” Iwaizumi tries again.

 

“ _You remembered my name._ ”

 

“Who could forget someone as pompous as you?” Iwaizumi glowers. “Now pay up.”

 

Oikawa paws over the coins. “Aw, Iwa-chan, don’t frown! If you scrunch up your cute face like that you’ll scare away your customers ~”

 

Iwaizumi grabs the chai and shoves it at Oikawa. “Shut up. Go away. Talk to your fangirls or something.” Oikawa picks up his drink with two dainty fingers and skips out the door with a little wave. Matsukawa and Hanamaki pounce as soon as the bell above the door gives a happy little jingle. 

 

“Who was _that_ prince?”

 

“Ooo, _Iwa-chan_ , how many more of him are you hiding?”

 

Iwaizumi breaks free from their noogies and slinks back to the break room, ears burning as he tries not to punch something.

 

*****

 

It doesn’t take long for Oikawa to be bumped up to regular customer status, what with him being around nearly every day of the week. _Not to mention annoying me the entire time,_ Iwaizumi thinks, grimacing at the back of the brunette’s head as Oikawa flaunts his outrageously good looks at the girls wandering around outside. Matsukawa and Hanamaki both insisted that Iwaizumi put up with Oikawa’s obnoxious behavior, claiming that the asshole _‘attracts customers like bees to honey!’_

 

Not that Iwaizumi cares. He would’ve been fine if Oikawa had just hovered near the window like the advertisement he made himself out to be. He would’ve been fine if Oikawa’s bobbing locks weren’t always flitting around in the periphery of his vision (a goddamn birds nest of style that looked abominably fluffy) and if he didn’t catch a whiff of Oikawa’s cologne every couple minutes (how does he get off smelling like he carries a flower store in his bag?) and if Oikawa didn’t try to _talk_ to him every time Iwaizumi tried to serve the hordes of schoolgirls that flocked to the shop in Oikawa’s wake (he was so goddamn _distracting,_ gorgeous people just shouldn’t be allowed in his _life)._

 

The nickname was the last straw, though.

 

“Iwa-chan~” Iwaizumi puts his face in his hands with a groan as the familiar sing-song filters through the air and the offender skips towards his station at the coffee bar.

 

“Please, please, _please stop calling me Iwa-chan_ ,” begged Iwaizumi, “I’m ready to pull my hair out,”

 

“Oh no! Iwa-chan didn’t have much to begin with,” Oikawa remarks with a smirk, dodging Iwaizumi’s attempts to grab him by the collar and sock him one. “You don’t want to spoil my good looks, Iwa-chan, Mattsun and Makki say I’m too good for business for you to ruin ~”

 

With a sigh, Iwaizumi starts making the order of a young schoolgirl with pigtails, hands moving from bottle to machine with the automatic confidence of one who has been doing something for too long. Leaning on the counter, Oikawa watches his movements with slitted eyes, gaze roaming from Iwaizumi’s rolled up sleeves to the flexing biceps that ripple beneath tanned skin.

 

“How’d you get such defined arm muscles?” Oikawa wonders.

 

“Oh, I played volleyball in high school,” Iwaizumi replies without looking up, “and being wing spiker pretty much shapes arm muscles indefinitely. A latte for Hina-san!”

 

“No way!” Exclaims Oikawa, moving deftly to the side as the schoolgirl grabs her drink while blushing at the blinding smile he throws her way, “I played too!”

 

“Oh yeah? What position?”

 

“Setter! I was really good, was going to go pro until my knee started acting up.”

 

“I could see that,” Iwaizumi comments offhand, and Oikawa gapes until he protests, “Your hands! Totally setter’s hands.”

 

Oikawa leans across the counter with his face propped on his hand. “I think it would have been fun to set for you; your spike is probably _so_ powerful, and you’re probably an _expert_ at handling balls…”

 

Iwaizumi ignores him and starts preparing another drink, ears slightly pink. He doesn’t look up again until two new faces barge through the doors of _The Knight’s Corner_.

 

“Hey hey hey! Is that Oikawa? So this is where you’ve been hiding these days!”

 

A rowdy man with a streaked gray mane (like an owl? Ridiculous hair, anyways) bounds up to Oikawa and tackles him from behind, another man following him with a smirk slitting his catlike eyes beneath a plume of black bedhead. They all exchange exclamations of delight and go sit at one of the tables, out of earshot. Iwaizumi studies the group from his vantage point at the coffee bar; Oikawa fits in with these flamboyant boys, his pretty face laughing loud and genuine as Owl-head waves his arms in grand, sweeping gestures, nearly decapitating the poor gamer sitting behind him. Bedhead then starts bickering with Oikawa, both their gazes flashing with competition, Owl-head cackling in the background.

 

“Hallo, Iwaizumi, who’re you staring at? If you’re eavesdropping, I recommend actually being close enough to hear what they’re saying,” Matsukawa observes over Iwaizumi’s left shoulder.

 

“You might want to polish something other than that poor mug… How about something of Oikawa’s?” Hanamaki adds from his right. Iwaizumi bristles, swearing, nearly dropping said mug onto the wooden floor. 

 

“What the fu- don’t sneak up on me like that!”

 

“Not our fault, considering how hard you were concentrating on making googly eyes at our newest attraction,” Matsukawa quickly dances out of Iwaizumi’s reach. “We’re just worried about your sorry single state!” He calls out before ducking into the safety of the kitchen, giggling at how the cup Iwaizumi chucks at him thunks as it misses its target.

 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Iwaizumi grumbles. Hanamaki slings an arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

 

“Honestly, though, seeing you mope around like this everyday isn’t doing anybody any good,” states Hanamaki gently, “maybe having someone like Oikawa in your life wouldn’t be a bad thing.” Iwaizumi scoffs at the idea, then sighs.

 

“…I am pretty pathetic, aren’t I?” His last breakup had been pretty bad. Sure, he’d liked Hiyori, liked her more than everybody else he’d dated, but he just couldn’t keep up with her demands. Iwaizumi couldn’t picture a “forever” with her. Call him a sap, but he couldn’t shake the belief in the true love marketed towards him since birth, especially with parents like his. Iwaizumi shudders at the memory. Being an only child could be rough sometimes.

 

Hanamaki dismissed his attitude with a flippant wave. “Nah, I’d imagine it’d take you a while to recover from last time, considering how you drank enough to pass out in a public park while half naked.” He ignores Iwaizumi’s glare and cuffs him lightly. “I’m just saying, don’t let too many opportunities pass you by.”

 

Iwaizumi sighs again, and goes back to polishing and staring as Hanamaki continues to weed out the last couple customers wandering in at twilight. Soon the trio at the corner table ambles over to the counter, and Oikawa smiles at Iwaizumi and gestures at his friends.

 

“This is Bokuto, and this is Kuroo!” Owl-head grins widely and Bedhead waves lazily. “They’re my roommates -“

 

“And his best friends!” Bokuto cuts in.

 

“- why would I want _you_ guys as best friends? All you do is tease me…”

 

“Aw, but you love us all the more for it, don’t you?” Bokuto whines, and immediately zeroes in on Iwaizumi with large amber eyes. “You must be Iwaizumi-san! You’re pretty cute, but not as cute as my Akaashi!”

 

“Jeez, Iwaizumi-san, please just give this idiot your number already, he’s been gushingabout you and your muscles _nonstop_ and I don’t think my ears can take it anymore,” Kuroo chimes in. Oikawa chokes on pumpkin spice latte and turns a satisfying shade of pink. Iwaizumi snickers as Oikawa frantically elbows his friend with a whiny “Kuroo!” At this moment, Hanamaki reaches over Iwaizumi and hands Kuroo a napkin inscribed with a sequence of digits. Wait… was that _his_ number?

 

“Makki!” He hisses, grabbing at the napkin, but Kuroo was too fast and had already plucked it from Hanamaki’s grasp.

 

“Nice doing business with you, good sir,” Kuroo drawls, saluting Hanamaki with two fingers. Hanamaki returns the gesture with a smug smile. Hooting, Bokuto drags a spluttering Oikawa out of the shop with a “See you later!” and the three of them leave quickly to avoid being witnesses to Hanamaki Takahiro’s bloody murder at Iwaizumi’s hands.


	2. pet names and text messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To: +03-615-0054 11:48pm  
> Hey, trashykawa.
> 
> From: +03-615-0054 11:49pm  
> meanie! dont attach trashy to my name! （≧▼≦ ；)
> 
> To: +03-615-0054 11:50pm  
> Will you stop calling me Iwa-chan, then?
> 
> From: +03-615-0054 11:50pm  
> ….no. 
> 
> To: +03-615-0054 11:51pm  
> Then deal with it. 
> 
> From: +03-615-0054 11:52pm  
> meanie meanie meanie! iwa-chans bullying me ٩(๑`^´๑)۶

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kind of ran out of plot ideas so bear with me as i try to fix it all

After Hanamaki retreats to the kitchen to escape the barrage of plastic silverware and paper cups, Iwaizumi goes back to tending the coffee machines. Matsukawa sneaks over to the register, while Hanamaki pokes his head out from time to time to check if it’s safe to come out or not. Iwaizumi blatantly snubs the both of them. They’d definitely plotted the whole thing in the kitchens beforehand.

 

The rest of the day, Iwaizumi is painfully aware of his cellphone burning in the back pocket of his jeans. He ends up ditching it in the break room after he almost spills a dozen orders because of his mom’s incessant texts about her shopping splurge on household goods and that he really needs _‘to come home soon and take a couple of these mops off my hands, they’re too good quality to be collecting dust in our closet.’_ Matsukawa and Hanamaki watch the whole ordeal with impish smiles on their faces, whipping their gazes away and pretending to be innocent as soon as Iwaizumi starts looking daggers their way again.

 

His phone doesn’t vibrate again until almost midnight, when Iwaizumi’s just finished showering and readying for bed.

 

> _From: +03-_ _615-0054 11:48pm_
> 
> _hi iwa-chan!_ (○ ﾟ ε ＾ ○) ✌ ~ ☆ _it’s oikawa_

 

Iwaizumi lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and rolls his eyes, a half-smile creeping onto his face. Of course he’d be the kind of idiot to use obnoxiously cute emojis. He clambers into the covers and replies. 

 

 

> _To: +03-_ _615-0054 11:48pm_
> 
> _Hey, trashykawa._

  

 

> _From: +03-_ _615-0054 11:49pm_
> 
> _meanie! dont attach trashy to my name!_ （≧▼≦ ； )

  

 

> _To: +03-_ _615-0054 11:50pm_
> 
> _Will you stop calling me Iwa-chan, then?_

   

 

> _From: +03-_ _615-0054 11:50pm_
> 
> _….no._

  

 

> _To: +03-_ _615-0054 11:51pm_
> 
> _Then deal with it._

 

 

> _From: +03-_ _615-0054 11:52pm_
> 
> _meanie meanie meanie! iwa-chans bullying me_ ٩ ( ๑`^´๑) ۶

 

With a chuckle, Iwaizumi leans back on his pillow and taps out a response.

 

 

> _To: +03-_ _615-0054 11:53pm_
> 
> _It’s already late, Kusokawa, shouldn’t you be asleep?_

   

 

> _From: +03-_ _615-0054 11:54pm_
> 
> _iwa-chan you sound like my mom_ ー ( ￣～￣ )ξ _my mom’s a lot nicer though_

  

 

> _To: +03-_ _615-0054 11:56pm_
> 
> _Go to bed, Bakakawa._

  

 

> _From: +03-_ _615-0054 11:58pm_
> 
> _fiiinneee, iwa-chan, i’m in bed_ ( ￣ ^ ￣ ) _happy now?_

  

 

> _To: +03-_ _615-0054 11:56pm_
> 
> _Good night, Oikawa._

 

 

> _From: +03-_ _615-0054 11:58pm_
> 
> _good night iwa-chan_ ( ≚ ᄌ≚ )ƶƵ

 

Iwaizumi turns off his phone smiling and places it on his bedside table, but not before creating a new contact under the name _Trashykawa._

 

*****

His phone vibrates with a new text message just as Iwaizumi was slipping on his shoes. 

  

 

 

 

> _From: Trashykawa_ _8:09am_
> 
> ( ๑ ơ ₃ ơ) _good morning iwa-chan!!!_

 

_That’s funny_ , Iwaizumi muses as he types. He never pinned Oikawa as an early riser, as he never sees him in _The Knight’s Corner_ until well past two in the afternoon. 

 

> _To: Trashykawa_ _8:10am_
> 
> _Good morning, indeed. Why are you up so early?_

   

> _From: Trashykawa_ _8:11am_
> 
> _its your fault! you made me sleep early last night ~_ ( ￣ ³ ￣ )~

 

> _To: Trashykawa_ _8:12am_
> 
> _Early? It was almost midnight! When do you usually go to bed?_  

 

> _From: Trashykawa_ _8:13am_
> 
> _not until around 2 or 3._ （゜◇゜） _this is a first, ive never been up before 12 in the morning. its so bright and busy!_

 

> _To: Trashykawa_ _8:14am_
> 
> _What kind of sleep schedule is that? Bakakawa._

 

Shrugging on his coat and locking his door, Iwaizumi heads out into Tokyo. Like Oikawa said, the streets are bright and busy, blinding sunlight dancing on the hoods of the honking taxis and pedestrians hurrying by. Although Iwaizumi didn’t go out much, he appreciated the bustle of city life, smiling at the sight of a group middle schoolers’ friendly squabbling on their way to school and waving cheerily at the auntie running the flower shop near his apartment. He stops at a 100 yen store and buys a beaming lucky cat (it’d look good against the light turquoise walls of _The Knight’s Corner_ , on the counter next to the tip jar on which _‘tip me baby one more time!’_ is scrawled in Mattsun’s chicken scratch). 

 

He’s just about to leave the overflowing shop when he spies gelled gray streaks and bad bedhead poking up from behind a stack of battered novellas. Just as Iwaizumi starts to call out to them, he hears a mention of _‘Oikawa’_ and he ducks behind a rack of rainbow hairpieces to see what they’re plotting.

 

“…dude, we should just go with a whoopee cushion, it never fails -“

 

“No way, bro; a) that’s tacky and b) there’s no way we can get that hidden before he sits down… How about the classic buzzer-in-the-hand?” 

 

“He’ll know something is up when we try to shake his hand all polite-like…”

 

Iwaizumi lightly taps their shoulders. “Hey, Kuroo-san, Bokuto-san.”

 

Bokuto screeches as Kuroo bristles and drops the cling wrap he’d just picked up. They both recover quickly, though, grinning at Iwaizumi’s befuddled and slightly suspicious expression.

 

“Oh hey hey hey, Iwaizumi-san!” Bokuto greets him brightly as Kuroo drawls out a “‘Sup.”

 

Iwaizumi studies them with one brow cocked but before he can say anything Kuroo hooks his arm through his and leads him out of the shop while announcing, “I have a proposition.” Bokuto swiftly pays for a pack of balloons and follows. 

 

“Do you know the cute blonde video gamer who was sitting behind us yesterday?” Asks Kuroo. 

 

“The fake blonde who can’t dye his roots for shit,” Bokuto cuts in. Iwaizumi raises a querying eyebrow. 

 

“Sure, he’s one of our regulars… Kenma-san, I think. Why do you ask?” Bokuto hoots and high-fives Kuroo, who grinning like a cat presented with a giant bowl of cream. 

 

“Write my number on his drink the next time he orders, will you? And in return I’ll tell you one of Oikawa’s secrets,” Kuroo appeals with praying hands. 

 

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I don’t think that’ll work, Kuroo-san, he doesn’t seem the type to call any suspicious numbers. In fact, I’ve never seen him come to the shop with anyone; he’s always alone with his textbooks and his games, and gives one-word answers when you try to talk to him. Trust me, Mattsun tried, and he only managed to piss Makki off.” Kuroo visibly deflates. 

 

“C’mon, man, there are other ways!” Bokuto exclaims, thumping his friend on the back, hard. “I’m pretty sure my Akaashi lives on his hall, maybe he could introduce the two of you.”

 

“ _BRO, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME SOONER?”_ Kuroo jumps on Bokuto as the latter protests that he just _forgot_ while he tries to wiggle out of the flurry of excited punches. 

 

Iwaizumi watches their exchange with a bemused smile, then checks his phone for the time. 

 

“…oh shit.” How long did these two dunderheads keep him? “I have to run, see you guys later!” Iwaizumi calls over his shoulder as he breaks into a dead sprint. He’s going to be so late, and so dead - his professors at Tokyo Medical University are anything but lenient, and as a scholarship student, he needs all the good graces he can get. 

 

He doesn’t see the lorry backing up as he steps off the curb. There’s a flash of pain, a blurring of the landscape, and the last thing he sees before blacking out are the faces of a fierce-looking lorry driver and a kindly silver-haired waiter…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BADABING BADABOOM LET'S PULL OUT THE INJURED CHARACTERS TROPE
> 
> btw, this is a combination coffee shop/college au, i'll clarify their respective schools and areas of study later on
> 
> please, please, PLEASE, hmu in my tumblr chat or something, i really need plot idea help
> 
> just come and brainstorm with me i promise i don't bite


	3. meat buns and taxi cabs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oikawa, why didn’t you answer the phone earlier!?!!?”
> 
> “Dude; I was in class and you’ve prank called me way too often —”
> 
> “Whatever, whatever, you better come quick, Iwaizumi-san’s in pretty bad shape, he got run over by a delivery lorry earlier and is now lying in Tokyo Medical —”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^needs a better title, any suggestions?
> 
>  
> 
> thanks to blue_wire13 for helping me with the beginning of this chapter, please go check them out!!

 

 

 

> _From: Trashykawa_ _8:13am_
> 
> _not until around 2 or 3._ （゜◇゜） _this is a first, ive never been up before 12 in the morning. its so bright and busy!_

 

 

 

> _To: Trashykawa_ _8:14am_
> 
> _What kind of sleep schedule is that? Bakakawa._

  

 

 

> _To: Trashykawa_ _8:16am_
> 
> _I have to stop texting you and actually leave now, you’re going to make me late for class. My professors will kill me if I’m so much as minute late._

 

 

 

> _From: Trashykawa_ _8:16am_
> 
> _ok, ill see you later!!! have a good day iwa-chan_ ( ˘ ³˘) ♥

 

Oikawa flops back down on the bed, phone held high above his face as he lets out a loud “Whee!!!” He’d actually awoken naturally that morning, even though he’d been tossing and turning the night before, stomach churning in anticipation of being able to text Iwa-chan “good morning”. If Kuroo and Bokuto saw him now, they’d make fun of him for “acting like a squeal-y high-school girl obsessed with her crush”. Not a bad thing, he supposed. He now gets all the hype about high-school romance; it can’t be a bad thing if it fills you with this much bubbly happiness, like champagne butterflies fluttering in his stomach and his brain.

 

 _Maybe I should write him a confession letter,_ Oikawa plots. He’d love to see Iwaizumi accidentally crushing the paper in a vice-like grip, with his adorable ears all cherry-red and that strangely attractive scowl on his face. _Oikawa_ , he’d growl in that low voice of his, _What. The hell. Is. This._

 

It’s a good thing Kuroo and Bokuto headed out early today, or else Oikawa would hear no end to the teasing about the delicate pink now clouding his face.

 

He snatches his laptop from his bedside table and continues watching his latest drama ( _My Love From Another Star,_ who _wouldn’t_ like it? It even has aliens!), pushing those thoughts into the far recesses of his mind. It’s nearly noon by the time he heads out. Donning a wide-brimmed sunhat and his favorite oversized sweater, he buys some milk bread to calm his stomach’s whining as he heads to his classes (all afternoon ones, thank god. His GPA would not survive if he had to wake up early and get lectured while hungover.) When he surfaces from the depths of Keio’s commerce classrooms, the day is still bright and the streets still busy, and he practically skips to _The Knight’s Corner_ , champagne butterflies fluttering like crazy as he tugs at his pink sweater and combs through his fringe before walking into the turquoise coffeeshop.

 

There’s a very obvious absence behind the counter. Oikawa’s eyes dart all over the shop, but nowhere does he spy that reassuring spiky-haired presence. He scampers over to the counter.

 

“Where’s Iwa-chan?” Hanamaki and Matsukawa are hurrying between counter and kitchen, trying desperately to serve the long queue before it starts leaking out the shop.

 

“We don’t know, he hasn’t called or anything…” Matsukawa shouts while dashing through the kitchen’s swinging doors.

 

“This has never happened before.” Hanamaki answers without looking up from the register, biting his lip. “He’s never even taken a sick day. Do you think he’s okay?”

 

“I don’t know either!!” Oikawa’s heart is thumping like an anxious rabbit, and his palms are sweating. Where the _hell_ could Iwa-chan be? Could he have been kidnapped? Or gotten lost and knifed? Maybe he accidentally wandered down some suspicious dark alley and a group of drug-dealing thugs threatened Iwa-chan into becoming a drug llama — 

 

Suddenly, his cell-phone starts singing  _Love Story_. “Wait, I got to get this, it’s Kuroo.” Oikawa frantically stabs the answer button. “Hello?”

 

_“Oikawa, why didn’t you answer the phone earlier!?!!?”_

 

“Dude; I was in class and you’ve prank called me _way_ too often —”

 

_“Whatever, whatever, you better come quick, Iwaizumi-san’s in pretty bad shape, he got run over by a delivery lorry earlier and is now lying in Tokyo Medical —”_

 

Oikawa hangs up frantically and dashes out the coffeeshop, tossing a slew of _Iwa-chan’s-in-the-hospital-and-I-need-to-go-save-him-right-now-bye-see-you-later_ at the harried Matsukawa and Hanamaki. He jumps into the first cab he sees, cutting off an irritated business lady who stares icily as he apologizes and clips at the bewildered cabbie, “Tokyo Medical University, quickly, please!”

 

The cabbie floors it. The car bursts along the road, skittering between lanes as urgently as Oikawa’s shaking voice. Oikawa sinks down in his seat, his hat in his hands and his backpack crushed against the seat, sandals tapping as the buildings blur and a chorus of honks chase the speeding taxi.

 

 _This is ridiculous_ , Oikawa berates himself as he tugs at his sweater again and again. He’s only known Iwaizumi for a couple weeks, only had his _number_ for less than half a day. It’s not like they’re lifelong friends who have lost contact over the years; there has always been a counter between them, and their interactions were pretty much limited to Oikawa flirting at Iwaizumi and him reciprocating with scathing comments and irritated scowls (oh, but they were such _attractive_ _scowls_ ). Why was he so _frantic_ , then? Why was his heart beating so ridiculously fast, why were worry lines creasing his face, why did he move so quickly at the mention of _Iwaizumi being injured_ —

 

The cab screeches to a stop. “We’re here, sir. 2000 yen.”

 

Slapping the bills into the cabbie’s outstretched hand, Oikawa all but vaults out of the taxi and dashes into the hospital.

 

“Hi, excuse me, I’m here to see Iwaizumi-san?” The receptionist takes in his heaving breaths with an unamused expression, leafs through the papers in front of her, and points a gnarled finger at a room down the hall.

 

“Thank you so much!” Oikawa nearly breaks into a dead sprint but stops himself, instead power-walking across the polished floor. He’s never noticed how quiet hospitals can be; there’s a strange ringing in his ears, and his fingers are shaking as he pushes the door open.

 

Kuroo and Bokuto are hovering over a prone figure on the bed. Enveloped by stiff white sheets is an ashen Iwaizumi, lids closed and mouth sagging into a familiar frown. Bruises bloom all over his body, patches of purple and yellow and blue. Bandages are tightly wrapped around his head. And were those bloodstains?

 

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes. Kuroo and Bokuto both stand and Oikawa slumps into one of the vacant chairs. The brunette just sits there, eyes wide and breath shallow, not even twitching when his friends slip out of the room and the door shuts with a faint click. Oikawa’s still sitting like that, with his fingers curled next to his lips, when Iwaizumi’s eyelids flutter with a grunt.

 

“…when did I fall asleep…” Iwaizumi grumbles. Oikawa flies out of his stillness and embraces him, nuzzling his cheek against his.

 

“…why are _you_ here, Asskawa? It’s just a concussion and a couple of bruises…”

 

Oikawa lets go immediately, chocolate doe-eyes glistening. “Oh. _Oh._ So _._ Um. You’re… you’re okay?”

 

“Of course, dumbass. Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Oh. Um.”

 

Thankfully, a nurse peeks her head around the door. “Ah, Iwaizumi-san, you’re awake! You’ve already been discharged, please feel free to leave whenever you’re comfortable to.” As she bustles into the room, Oikawa flashes her a smile and charms her into getting them coffee and food. When she returns from the hospital cafeteria with steaming mugs and meat buns, Oikawa rewards her with a kiss on the cheek while Iwaizumi gives her a heartfelt thanks. They turn back to each other when she leaves fanning herself.

 

“So. I’m gonna leave now —”

 

“Iwa-chan, don’t!” Oikawa rushes to his side and catches Iwaizumi as he topples off the bed. “You’re obviously in no condition to be going home by yourself. I’m taking you. _No_ , you can’t argue with me.” He tuts and waves a finger at Iwaizumi’s flimsy pleas. “You really think you can get down the hall without collapsing? _I’m going with you._ ” With these words, Oikawa slings Iwaizumi’s arm over his shoulder and they limp over to front desk, checking the glowering barista out with a flourish of a pen.

 

Oikawa loads Iwaizumi into a taxi, then plops down next to him in the backseat. He nudges the other, prompting him to tell the driver his address, and they both slump onto the pleather seats as the cab lurches from the curb and into the speeding traffic.

 

They sit in silence. There’s a murmuring hush hanging about the car, the beeping and screeching outside significantly muffled by its metal frame. The windows seem like miniature TV screens, capturing the vigor of the city speeding by. Over there, a lively yakitori stand. Here, a gleaming stationary store. The people scuttle from building to building, and it’s easy to pick out the ambling few who’re soaking up the sunny bustling of Tokyo.

 

As they pull up to the small apartment complex, Oikawa shivers. He’d never actually thought this far. He glances at Iwaizumi from the corner of his eye. There’s a small frown hovering around his lips, and Oikawa can’t tell if it’s just the pain from Iwaizumi’s concussion or something else. He helps him out of the taxi and they stumble up the staircase to Iwaizumi’s apartment. Oikawa’s palms are sweating, and he sincerely hopes Iwaizumi can’t feel his throbbing pulse.

 

“Where’s your…” Iwaizumi digs around his pockets and hands Oikawa the key. Oikawa thrusts it in the knob and huffs out his nose before twisting and opening the door.

 

They kick off their shoes and stagger through the apartment with arms slung over each other, finally stumbling into bedroom after bumping into the walls a couple times. Oikawa finally deposits Iwaizumi on his bed. Iwaizumi groans and rolls onto his side, clutching his head.

 

Oikawa gingerly perches himself on the bed. “You okay?”

 

“… _curtains_.” Once the curtains obscure the sun’s glare, tension leaks out of Iwaizumi’s shoulders and he leans back on his pillow with a sigh. “That’s better.”

 

“…should I make you something to drink or —”

 

“Tea’s in the top right drawer of the kitchen counter.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Oikawa hurries to the kitchen area. The apartment is small, but nice. Sparsely furnished, with just a table, a sofa, and a kotatsu that has yet to be put away. Clothes are strewn all over the furniture in that college-is-stressful-and-I-forget-to-do-laundry sort of way. As the water boils Oikawa picks up one of the textbooks laying on the table. Jeez, this stuff was _heavy_ (both literally _and_ figuratively). He puts _Clinical Emergency Medicine_ back, and walks over to the few frames hanging on the wall. There’s a high school diploma, and a picture of a young boy with scrapes on his shins and bandages slapped all over his body, grinning merrily at the camera while brandishing a beetle in a jar. Next to it is a photo of a dark-haired family, with a smiling teenager between his mom and dad, the second button of his uniform missing.

 

The kettle shrieks and Oikawa scrambles to take it off the fire and pour it into mugs. When he returns to the bedroom with the tea, Iwaizumi perks an eyebrow at him.

 

“Had fun exploring?”

 

Oikawa flushes and stammers, “I—I—the books were already laid out on the table and the pictures are hung right on the wall am I not allowed to look at the things _right in front of me_ —”

 

He glares at Iwaizumi’s chuckle. “Mean, Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi merely gives him a languid smirk and pats the bed invitingly. Oikawa plops down next to him, and Iwaizumi nuzzles against his shoulder. “Christ, why are you so tall…” Iwaizumi mutters, eyelids fluttering.

 

Oikawa looks down at his spiky head with a smile, relaxing against the headrest. _This is nice,_ he purrs in his head. His eyelids droop at the tranquility of the moment. There’s a warm presence on his thigh, wandering up the muscles with light kneading, getting closer and closer to —

 

Eyes flying open, Oikawa kicks off the roaming hand. _No._ Iwaizumi’s contemplating him with a heavy-lidded gaze. _No._ He shifts just a bit closer, the distance between their faces shrinking. _No._ Only an inch until their lips —

 

“ _Stop_ , Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shoves Iwaizumi away and stands. This wasn’t how it was supposed to _go_ , Iwaizumi wasn’t supposed to be the _type_ , it was moving too fast, _way_ too fast and he thinks he read somewhere that personality changes were symptoms of concussion but he isn’t sure and this feels all _wrong_ and and _terrible_ and he just knows that this has to _stop_ and he has to get out of here _right now_.

 

Iwaizumi reaches out for pink sweater to hold onto but only grasps at emptiness, the door to his apartment closing sharply with a _click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry if iwa-chan seems like an ass for a bit, please forgive me it's just the concussion okay, he's rather out of it, he'll be back to normal by the next chapter and react like the good person he actually is


	4. oh no

 

 

 

> _To: Trashykawa_ _10:24am_
> 
> _Hey, thanks for taking me home the other day. I’m still little woozy, but feeling much better. Think I almost slept through an entire week!_

 

It’s Wednesday. Iwaizumi has been holed up in his apartment for the past couple days, trying to shake off the dizziness and double-vision. He’d managed to wrangle a week off from university. Catching up was going to be hell, but as a med major, Iwaizumi knows better than to try to think while concussed. 

 

He’s finally feeling lucid again, so he heads out to work. Oikawa hasn’t replied yet. Weird. After taking it out for the umpteenth time to check for emoticons, Iwaizumi pockets his phone and makes his way down the twisting Tokyo streets. 

 

As he steps through the door Hanamaki and Mattsukawa slap him on the shoulders in greeting, and after reassuring them that yes, he is still alive, he grabs his apron and reassumes his station at the counter. 

 

“Hey, Iwaizumi, have seen Oikawa lately?” Hanamaki asks, hand propping up his chin. 

 

“…he brought me home after the accident, but I haven’t seen him since… Why? Is he okay?” Iwaizumi answers, perplexed. 

 

“Oh, I just haven’t seen him all week; thought it was probably ‘cuz you weren’t here,”

 

Iwaizumi finishes making a drink and sets it on the counter with certainty. “He’ll be back.” 

 

****

 

He hasn’t. 

 

A week passed, then another - and still Iwaizumi had yet to glimpse the familiar nest of brown hair. He’s sent multiple texts ( _Hey, are you okay? // Hi, are you even still alive? // Okay, I’m getting seriously worried…_ ), even tried calling a few times ( _dial tone, empty, echoing_ ). No good.

 

Iwaizumi does _not_ like this. 

 

He hates to admit it, but he misses the loud presence of Oikawa, the in-your-face-ness that he so embodies. _The Knight’s Corner_ is quiet now, too quiet, bustling crowds now slightly smaller, warm lighting a bit too dim. There are so many shadows Iwaizumi had never noticed before, and so many more _stains_. Everyday he scrubs ferociously at the countertop and glares daggers at the darkness looming behind the coffee grounds. Hanamaki and Matsukawa shoot each other worried glances, but neither seem to want to weather the thundercloud aura curling from Iwaizumi’s skin.

 

One day, as Iwaizumi’s going through his contacts (maybe it was the nickname that did it? Should he stop calling him Trashykawa?), he notices a  new entry. With a huffy chuckle, Iwaizumi taps _best fucker you’ll ever know_ , eyes narrowed as he waits for the call to connect. 

 

_“…Hello?”_

 

“Hi, is this Kuroo-san? It’s Iwaizumi. I haven’t seen Oikawa in a while, is he alright?”

 

_“…why are you calling, asshole? Never thought you’d turn out to be such a dick, or else we wouldn’t have let Oikawa anywhere_ near _your shop. If you ever_ touch _him again, you ever come_ near _him again, I swear — ”_

 

“Woah, wait, hold up — what happened? Did I do something?”

 

“ _Did you_ do _something?!?_ _YOU TRIED TO THANK HIM BY_ WANKING _HIM!_ ”

 

Holy. Shit.

 

“…I — I sincerely don’t remember this, I am so, _so sorry —”_

 

“ _You should be —“_

 

“But I swear to _god_ that I wasn’t trying to get in his pants —”

 

“ _…you were, and I quote, ‘inching his hand closer and closer to my crotch and if I hadn’t slapped it away —’”_

 

“Oh jeez… I know my concussion was bad, but not _that bad,_ I must’ve been out of my mind… I’m — sorry really isn’t gonna cut it, huh. I… Ah, fuck. I — I — I was delirious, and my fucked up brain must’ve somehow concluded that was okay _when it was so obviously not,_ and I…”

 

The line goes dead for a few moments as Iwaizumi scrambles to find the right words. He doesn’t remember being that fucked up and amnesiac; but that was the definition of amnesia, wasn’t it? Fuck. His pulse is pounding in his ears, and there's a jitter running up his leg. Iwaizumi wasn’t really one for crushes, Hiyori being the only one before who had made his heart do any sort of acrobatics, but now… 

 

“… _if it were anyone else, I’d be loathe to believe them, but you seem like a nice guy, with none of that asshole vibe… And if it weren’t for the complete mess Oikawa was when he came back I would’ve found it hard to believe that whole thing happened.”_

 

“I’m…is there any way I can talk to him? He hasn’t been replying to my texts or picking up my calls…”

 

“… _fine, he’s barricaded himself in his room, you can drop by sometime tomorrow.”_

 

“Thank you, _thank you —”_

 

“ _BUT if we find out you’re fostering a genuine relationship with Oikawa when you’re only trying to get in his pants, I swear to god — I know where you live, and me and Bokuto will cut you all over your body, dip you in salt, then slowly burn your —”_

 

“I swear I am not just trying to get in his pants.”

 

“… _good. Okay._ ” 

 

Kuroo hangs up and a couple seconds later Iwaizumi’s phone blips with a new text. 

 

 

 

> _From: best fucker you'll ever know_ _3:12pm_
> 
> _here’s our address… NO FUNNY BUSINESS._

 

Iwaizumi heaves a sigh of relief. 

 

*****

 

He’s standing in front of the apartment door, fidgeting with the grocery bag in his hands. The hallway is quiet. The air weighs heavy on Iwaizumi, muffles his ears and his limbs. He knocks on the door, each a dull thud, struggling against the choking damp that’s settled about him. 

 

Iwaizumi’s just about to leave when the door cracks open. An amber eye studies him from behind it before Bokuto allows him to step into the apartment. Kuroo is waiting with his arms crossed. 

 

“We’ll be watching,” Kuroo threatens as Bokuto nods in agreement. 

 

Iwaizumi gulps. “I promise, I’m not trying to hurt him.” They lead him down the hall and into the kitchen, a cozy room of stone counter and wood furniture and warm light. 

 

Oikawa’s sitting at the worn kitchen table. The afternoon light plays with his unkempt hair, caressing his flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. There’s none of his usual perfection, no angles in his baggy sweatshirt, everything crumpled, back hunched over and posture crumbling. He looks up. Golden light glistens on his eyelashes as he quickly glances away. 

 

Iwaizumi sits gingerly on the chair across from Oikawa. Neither looks at the other, Oikawa studying the floor, Iwaizumi staring at the table, the silence nearly corporeal. 

 

“…I owe you an apology.”

 

Oikawa sniffles and turns to stare out the window, his shuddering silhouette framed by the waning sunset.

 

“It was a dick move, and I’m so, _so_ terribly sorry. It was completely out of character, the concussion… I— I never meant to hurt you, I wasn’t thinking straight — no, I wasn’t thinking _at all_ and… It’s all my fault. I’m — I’m sorry—”

 

A strangled giggle escapes Oikawa’s throat.  “I should’ve expected it.” He croaks. 

“…it’s been a while since I’ve met someone like you, y’know,” Oikawa smears a smirk on his face. “A person I instantly felt like I could _trust,_ open up to, one of the few people I’ve been attracted to who seemed like he wanted something more than a one night stand… I’m used to it, though. This face is _great_ for making other people jealous. It’s not like they have anything to be jealous about, anyways. Should’ve kept my expectations low, huh? I’m never gonna be anyone’s first choice—”

 

“ _Shut up._ ” Eyes wide, Oikawa looks up into Iwaizumi’s furious face, burning gaze and snarling mouth, darkening, shadowy, terrifying hellfire barely contained in the raised veins in his neck. 

 

“I don’t know who hurt you,” Iwaizumi growls, “but I can not — _will not_ — allow you to _beat yourself up like this_. You’re _charming_ , you’re _funny,_ you’re an endearing person who I find _absolutely gorgeous_ and _completely_ out of my league and you — what does it say about me if… If I had only one more day left on this earth, I would spend it with _you_ because you can brighten up a room with your mere _presence_ , because your stories can keep me riveted for days, because even though you’re annoying and I never have a moments peace when you’re around _I’m never lonely either_ and I — I really, _really_ like you, and it kills me to see you tearing yourself down and I wish…”

 

He reaches out for the hand Oikawa braces against the table but when Oikawa snatches it away as soon as Iwaizumi’s fingertips brush against his he freezes, letshis hand fall into empty space. Iwaizumi just looks at him with that fiercely soft gaze of his and Oikawa _hates_ it, _detests_ it, the warmth of those eyes, all velvety kindness, keeps expecting Iwaizumi to lash out at his puffy lids like all the boys before, grab his hand in a vice-like grip and refuse to let go and Oikawa can’t _read_ the expression now framing that face and his stomach’s churning like an entire butter factory is stuffed between his abs and he can’t stop the sobs rippling through his shoulders and yet — and yet Iwaizumi doesn’t command him to stop, doesn’t demand at all, just quietly retrieves a tissue box and pushes it towards Oikawa. 

 

A soothing tone, a warm shadow cast down upon him. “If you don’t want to talk now, you can talk when you’re ready… I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi places the grocery bag on the table as he stands, plastic rustling near Oikawa, head buried under his arms as he trembles against the wood. 

 

“…you always look sad when you ask for milk buns and we never have them so I convinced Makki and Mattsun to stock them; and strawberry milk goes well with them and you mentioned you liked strawberry the other day…” Oikawa doesn’t stop quivering. With a wistful glance, Iwaizumi leaves, door shutting behind him with a _click_. 

 

Bokuto and Kuroo creep over to Oikawa, who lifts his head at their approach and feigns a wobbly smile. With strong arms Bokuto wraps Oikawa in a bear hug, while Kuroo holds up their Wii remotes and grins. 

 

“ _Just Dance_ competition to decide who does the dishes!”

 

“Bro, I’m gonna _kick_ your lazy ass!” 

 

“You _wish,_ bro, I’m gonna kick _your_ ass so far into next week that…” 

 

Watching his roommates squabble, Oikawa sniffles, then wipes at his nose with a chuckle. “ _Guys_. Need I remind you that _I_ am the reigning champion of _Just Dance_ in this house? No _way_ am I giving up my crown that easily —”

 

“YOU’RE ON!!!!” 

 

“Hey, bro, how ‘bout we team up and get more total points than Oikawa, then he’ll actually have to do chores for once…” 

 

“ _Unfair_!! You _meanies_ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaahhhh!!! i can't do angst i'm sorry this is probably terrible but the best way I could resolve the conflict?? I think???
> 
> wheew; now on to more fluff!


	5. stardust

Oikawa doesn’t come around _The Knight’s Corner_ much anymore. On the rare day he does appear, he’s always flanked by two overzealous guardians and exchanges but a few words with Iwaizumi before flitting out the door, more stranger than friend.

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t blame him. 

 

At least they’re texting again. They chat only about trivial things, their online banter far more comfortable than the pregnant pauses that punctuate their face-to-face conversation. 

 

The barista sighs into his beer. He’s starting to feel that keen emptiness again, that gnawing on all his organs that’ll drive him to try to drown it in alcohol, burn it away with vodka that claws its way down his throat, fill it with numbness that returns the next day in the form of pounding pain… 

 

It’s not like the world is crashing around his ears, or that all colors have dulled and he has a sepia filter slapped over his eyes or something. There’s just — just a tinge of bleakness seeping into the edges of his vision, less laughter, fewer smiles, sunshine now a bit too blinding from lack of exposure to bright light. 

 

Iwaizumi’s fine, really; it’s just that his life has reverted to what it was before and he’s reeling from his fall from some strange drug-less high. (He’s fine, he’s definitely fine, even as he tries to take a gulp of beer and almost drenches himself in the face.)

 

It’s raining. The light pitter-patter can barely be heard over the bar’s smoky music, water pooling on the sidewalk and teardrops rolling down the windows, schoolchildren jumping into puddles as their squeals duet with the skid of tires on wet cement. It’s as if the sky is opening up, embracing Tokyo with a strange gray liquor, iridescent oil spills blooming all over the city. 

 

The bar is glowing amber, the customers buzzing around the counters and each other, sticky air, dim lights. Iwaizumi’s glass just sits there, golden, full, mocking. He rests his face against his fist and lets his gaze roam the room. Ruddy faces dot the room, businessmen with a bit too much sake in them, smiling lipstick and pierced septum popping up amongst collared shirts and tank tops. The musky scent of alcohol and sweat on skin almost mists in the air. Rowdy groups of freshmen, trying to chug kegs of beer, downing radioactive green shots by the dozen; an almost-orgy going on in the booth next to him, lights scribbling on patches of white skin; a couple of bulky guys with lecherous expressions manhandling a completely intoxicated man towards the toilet —

 

Iwaizumi’s stomach lurches as he recognizes that familiar poof of brown hair. 

 

He scrambles out of his booth, beelining for the group dragging Oikawa towards the bathroom. (Iwaizumi’s heard of what goes down in bar bathrooms. It’s rarely good.) The guys turn around at the sound of thudding footsteps, snarls in place as their grip on Oikawa’s arm tightens. 

 

Their eyes widen as they see a mass of buff barista barreling towards them. Ignoring their protests, Iwaizumi rushes up to Oikawa and stands him up straight. “Oikawa. Do you know these guys?”

 

Oikawa looks up at him with a tipsy grin. “They bought me _loooaadddsss_ of drinks and wanna show me something cooool~” 

 

“Okay, that’s it, I’m taking you home.” Iwaizumi hoists Oikawa's arm onto his shoulder as the lechers roll their eyes and stalk off. Oikawa gives them a little wave as he lists to the right. They stumble out of the bar and into the rain, Iwaizumi sending a quick text to Kuroo ( _I’ve found your idiot roommate and he’s wasted, so I’m bringing Oikawa back to your apartment_ ). The rain has let up a little, hiccuping down upon them in time with the tiny spasms of Oikawa’s chest. 

 

Iwaizumi’s about to wave down a taxi when Oikawa decides to become dead weight. There’s nothing to do but lug him over to a nearby bench and slump the both of them onto the mildewy planks. Iwaizumi sighs, face towards the sky, while Oikawa leans forward and buries his face in his hands, shoulders heaving, sobs wailing out into the drizzle coating the night. 

 

Hesitantly, Iwaizumi pats Oikawa on his back. “Hey, are you okay?”

 

The brunette keeps crying, sobs racking his body like earthquakes. Iwaizumi keeps his hand on Oikawa’s shoulder, trying to channel as much reassurance as he can into the touch. They sit there a while, darkness ambient all around them, glowing tendrils refracting through the water trickling down their faces.

 

“…I don’t know what to do,” Oikawa sniffles. He’s no longer swaying, thank god. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how I feel, I don’t know if I’m ready or not… I’m fucking _terrified,_ Iwa-chan, I’m _scared_ , _so scared_ , scared out of my mind, I — I don’t know what to do…” 

 

There are cracks blooming all across Oikawa, unfurling tendrils of hurt and betrayal, each line etched with an unspoken name and he’s so _shattered_ and Iwaizumi can see his confidence straining to keep him glued together, threads snapping one by one by one so he wraps his arms around Oikawa and tries to squeeze him back together, tries to warm the brittle glue and catch all the broken pieces before the rain washes them far, far away, beyond his reach, into the endless ocean that’s flooded the streets and they sit there, entangled, entwined, on a mildewy park bench balanced on sky, and Iwaizumi whispers his own broken into Oikawa’s ears, pouring shattered fragments into the gaps that have appeared along the fault lines of his armor, fills him up with pieces of empty so they both become helium balloons and float across the foggy neon sky dancing dark beneath their feet…

 

The shivers calm. No more quaking, but Iwaizumi doesn’t stop, cannot stop, gushing his empty out out out until they’ve reached outer space, are tumbling alongside Jupiter and Mars, stars in their eyes as he chokes on the _sorry, sorry, sorry_ he flings out into an endless vacuum. Oikawa has stilled between his arms, pulsing warmth, light seeping from between his lips as he plants a key on Iwaizumi’s cheek, made of space, of stardust, of oxygen that fills Iwaizumi’s lungs and they breathe together, in, out, in, out, in and out and in and out until they both unlock…

 

Hours later, they’re back on earth, and Iwaizumi’s passing a sleepy Oikawa gently into Kuroo’s arms. When the door closes in gruff approval, Iwaizumi touches the place where Oikawa kissed him, burning bright as a supernova in his dazzled mind, blinding as Oikawa had been when enveloped by his arms, and he goes home and dreams of a boy made of burning gas and black holes, and they race dizzy-fast asteroids and wear capes of comet tails as they careen into the night…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry, i promised fluff and this is anything but that... had to fix the conflict, they ended up on a really awkward note last chapter
> 
> (also sorry if the metaphors are a bit much, i - having not been in their situation before - don't feel like i can do justice to a dialogue exchange.)


	6. favorite: black coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *insert smol fluff interlude here*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys deserve it

“What’ll you have today?” 

 

Oikawa scrunches up his face in thought for a couple seconds, then his face lights up as he smirks, “I’ll have _your_ usual, Iwa-chan!” 

 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and after fiddling with the coffee machines in a flurry of motion, he plunks a steaming mug in front of the brunette. Oikawa beams, blows on the mixture lightly, then takes a great gulp. 

 

He spits it out immediately. “Iwa-chan, what the _hell_?”

 

Iwaizumi’s too busy laughing his guts out to answer. Matsukawa swiftly snaps a candid of the ogre-like look of disgust on Oikawa’s face while Kuroo doubles over the counter with laughter. 

 

“Why _black coffee,_ Iwa-chan? How the fuck do you even _drink_ this stuff? It’s so _bitter…”_

 

“How the fuck do _you_ even drink _your_ drinks? I swear, the reason the sugar container is fucking empty by the end of every day is because of _you —”_

 

“No way! Don’t hate on me because I know how to enjoy sweets; I bet Iwa-chan doesn’t even like ice cream!”

 

“Green tea or sesame flavor?”

 

“How dare you insult ice cream like this! _Obviously_ caramel and cookie-dough-chocolate-chip-crumble are the _best_ ice cream flavors! No wonder you’re so bitter, if you’re drinking this stuff everyday —”

 

Oikawa squawks as he stumbles backwards when Iwaizumi flicks his forehead with a good-natured scowl. 

 

“Seriously, what a waste! As a barista, you should be taking advantage of the free drinks and mixing cool things!” Oikawa grumbles, rubbing his forehead with a petulant pout. 

 

Iwaizumi smiles. “What would you make?” 

 

“A… a cotton-candy peppermint mocha latte infused with green tea!”

 

“Kusokawa, how the fuck would you even make that?”

 

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do!”

 

“I dare you to try — hey, hey, don’t climb onto the counter! Keep your feet off! Off! Off — oh shit — HA! — oh my god, Oikawa… how did you even do that…” 


	7. mall-date mall-date mall-date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a terrible idea, Iwaizumi concludes as he undos the seventh tie he’s put on so far. Maybe ties were a bit too much for this. Bokuto had said a ‘mall-date’, right? Which means a date but not a fancy date so him trying to strangle himself with multicolored sashes is a little over the top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are absolute angels! thank you so much for being so patient. i hope you enjoy this ultra fluffy chapter!

This is a terrible idea, Iwaizumi concludes as he undos the seventh tie he’s put on so far. Maybe ties were a bit too much for this. Bokuto had said a ‘mall-date’, right? Which means a date but not a fancy date so him trying to strangle himself with multicolored sashes is a little over the top. 

 

Tossing the tie onto the pile of clothes discarded on his bed, Iwaizumi gives up and shrugs on his favorite Godzilla hoodie. 

 

He makes it to the subway station without incident (although there are a few close calls; two crazy cabbies, an encounter with some scaffolding, and a flowerpot chucked out the window in harmony with a yowling cat). It not being rush hour, he manages to steal a seat and ends up staring into blank space as he tries to wrangle his thoughts into some semblance of order. 

 

At the top of the station stairs — right in front of the information booth where sits a hassled attendant — are a crowd of rowdy college students. As Iwaizumi approaches the group he realizes it’s not actually a crowd but merely a group of four guys, arms windmilling as they play a game of hopscotch on the marble floor. He rolls his eyes and joins them. 

 

Oikawa looks him up and down and nods with a smirk. “Knew you were into the city-destroying monsters. Endearingly tacky.” 

 

“Don’t hate on Godzilla, he could take your aliens in a fight any day and mash them to pulp.” 

 

“How dare you! I’ll have you know that, as extraterrestrial beings, we have no gauge on the power of aliens, while Godzilla is just a big-ass gorilla that thought a building was a strange looking tree —”

 

Oikawa chokes as Kuroo locks an arm around his head and noogies it playfully with the other. The black-haired man winks at Iwaizumi as Oikawa splutters and reaches up immediately to fix his hair. Iwaizumi chuckles, then extends a hand to the dark man quietly watching them, and they shake, Bokuto bounding over to introduce his ‘friend — no, boyfriend — Akaashi Keiji.’ Iwaizumi hadn’t pegged the serious-seeming man as Bokuto’s type, but they seem close, Bokuto’s arms around his elegant waist, Akaashi looking down on him with a softened gaze. 

 

They all traipse into the mall, Bokuto and Kuroo tripping over their feet racing up the stairs, Akaashi and Iwaizumi and Oikawa trailing behind at a less ungodly pace. Akaashi answers all of Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s questions with soft but crisp replies, just as amused and exasperated at his boyfriend’s exploits as they. 

 

When they enter the main alcove, Iwaizumi can’t help but utter a soft gasp. Being from a small town in the Japanese country, Iwaizumi swears he won’t ever get over how grand malls look, all marble and glass and steel, palaces of endless commodities and bright blinding lights. A small smile tugs at Oikawa’s lips when he notices the burly barista’s wondering eyes. 

 

They lose Akaashi and Bokuto to a music store, Akaashi entranced by some guitars and Bokuto by him. Kuroo waves them away as soon as he spies a blond pudding-head bobbing about in a video game store. Iwaizumi and Oikawa walk for a bit, wandering into a clothing store where Oikawa wistfully strokes a green army jacket but leaves as soon as he spies the price tag. 

 

Oikawa spots an arcade a floor up and sprints up every other step on the escalator and Iwaizumi rushes after him with arms outspread just in time to catch him as his foot hitches on the last step. 

 

"Are you okay?" Iwaizumi asks, but Oikawa just grins at him and bounds into the arcade. 

 

It takes Iwaizumi a couple minutes to find Oikawa rattling change into a token machine. "Look, Iwa-chan, we can play at least three games of Dance Dance Revolution!" 

 

Iwaizumi smirks. "I'm gonna whoop your sorry ass, Oikawa,"

 

"I'd like to see you try!" They wait behind the small line of sweaty players and in no time they're on the mats, feet flying, jaws clenched, trying desperately not to slip off of the glowing squares they're dancing on. Oikawa wins, of course; nothing can beat his intensive Just Dance training. (Iwaizumi _may_  have also been glancing at him from time to time and forgetting to watch the screen and misstepping a lot -- not his fault! He swears that Oikawa might be part incubus, what with his devil horns and supple body and incredibly pretty face.) 

 

They try the basketball game next, with Oikawa trying to set the basketballs at awkward angles while Iwaizumi doubles over with laughter. (As Iwaizumi shoots hoop after hoop in quick succession Oikawa's eyes are glued to his fluid form -- not staring, mind, just making the observation that muscles should not be able to ripple in such definition under those hoodies and jeans.) Iwaizumi beats Oikawa's score by a wide margin, and they gleefully collect the tickets spewing out of the machines. 

 

It turns out that all their work only earns them a small gorilla plushie and a pencil case, both of which Iwaizumi hands over to Oikawa because he frankly doesn't have any use for either. 

 

"Aw, Iwa-chan, I'm going to think of you every time I look at him," Oikawa croons over the bite size stuffed gorilla, "He looks exactly like you!" 

 

After receiving the vicious hair-tousling he deserves (Iwaizumi seeming quite satisfied with the chorus of yelps and squeals that issue from the brunette's pouting mouth), Oikawa tugs Iwaizumi over to one of the miscellaneous claw machines. 

 

"I'm going to win you something," he states, "So you think of this gorgeous face every time you see it." 

 

Oikawa's face is all scrunched up with concentration, chocolate eyes following the claw with burning intensity, long fingers jostling the joystick with pinpoint precision. The claw inches right, then left, and right again, creaking all the while. It shakily picks up an embroidered pillow and right before the time runs out Oikawa maneuvers it to the drop hole. Iwaizumi plucks it out of the machine and examines the Evangelion decal. 

 

"Nerd," Iwaizumi smirks. Oikawa gasps indignantly. 

 

"Aliens, mecha, and the end of the world -- it's one of the best animes ever made!" 

 

"Have you even _seen_ Cowboy Bebop?"

 

"Of course Iwa-chan'd be smitten by Westerns with all the guns and explosions."

 

"I bet you'd like it too, though. It is a _space_ western after all." 

 

"Space? Why didn't you say so? We are _so_ watching that later!" 

 

 _Did he mean another date?_ Iwaizumi wonders as Oikawa skips off to find a restroom. He wasn't even sure if Oikawa considered this to be one. Was he moving too fast? Making too many assumptions? Did Oikawa actually want to go out with him? He doesn't want to hurt him again, and he feels like he's walking on crushed glass, tiptoeing on a tightrope that won't stop swinging. 

 

"Hey, you okay?" Iwaizumi looks up into Oikawa's doe eyes and smiles.

 

They get Starbucks, Oikawa mangling a complicated frappe that flusters the teenager serving them, Iwaizumi's order of a simple black coffee an obvious relief. Somehow Oikawa manages to get whipped cream on his nose, and Iwaizumi laughs and wipes it off with a finger, sticking the small piece of fluff on his own tongue as Oikawa whines. 

 

"Thief! Burglar! Whipped-cream snatcher! You should've bought your own, stop taking mine! "

 

Iwaizumi beams and swipes more cream. "You should try and stop me, then."

 

Oikawa rolls his eyes, then kisses him. 

 

Iwaizumi's heart skips a beat. Oikawa's lips are soft, softer than he ever imagined, sugary with cream and coffee. A long and sweet two seconds, and Oikawa breaks the kiss, gaze averted downwards, long eyelashes outlining the pink tinge that colors his cheeks. 

 

Iwaizumi leans forward and kisses him. Oikawa squeaks, then closes his eyes and his lips melt, and it's all heat and tongue and sweetness and when they break apart this time they're both flushed and giddy, and Oikawa starts giggling and won't stop. 

 

"Did I miss something? What's the joke?"

 

Oikawa takes a breath, then spots Iwaizumi's bewilderment and collapses into giggles again.

 

Iwaizumi scowls. "Fuck you, Oikawa."

 

"I know you want to," he quips back with a smirk, then cackles at the deep red flush that blossoms across Iwaizumi’s scowling face. Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi starts to stalk off towards the toilets when Oikawa grabs his arm and kisses him again, giggling all the while. This goes on for some time, and by then they’ve somehow managed to sit under one of the large installations in the middle of the mall, hidden by a canopy of fake leaves.

 

“So, um,” Iwaizumi finally asks, face still burning beet-red, “Would you be willing to maybe, um, go out with me sometime? A-a-as my boyfriend?” 

 

“You really are kind of dense, aren’t you, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa giggles. “We’ve been together for the past week!”

 

“Wait, _what?_ When did this happen?”

 

“I asked you last Sunday, and you huffed a _yes_ then rushed off!

 

“That was a really busy day, I didn’t hear you _at all_ , I thought you were going on about the couple in your recent favorite drama —”

 

“It’s _your_ fault that you weren’t paying attention! Either way,” Oikawa declares, kissing Iwaizumi lightly on the cheek, “We’re boyfriends now, and I like you, and you better like me as well.”

 

Iwaizumi smiles. “Bakakawa, of course I do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (as you can probably tell, there are no good synonyms for kiss. how do smut writers even do it?)
> 
> thanks so much for reading! i have no clue how to go on from here. should i end this fic? do you have any ideas for me to keep writing? please tell me in the comments or hmu at mielzy.tumblr.com or mielzy-scribbles.tumblr.com
> 
> thanks for giving this fic so much love! hope your summers are all fantabulous!

**Author's Note:**

> i'm mielzy.tumblr.com if you want to scream about iwaoi with me and maybe help with plot ideas 
> 
> thanks so much for reading my fic! really hope you liked it


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